


Through The Windows To Your Soul

by StardustAndTeacups



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Witch!Abby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndTeacups/pseuds/StardustAndTeacups
Summary: As a witch, Abigail Griffin's life has not exactly been a bed of roses. Just when she thinks she has managed to create a quiet life for herself and her family, she is dragged back to Fort Weather - a place she swore never to return to - following the murder of Duchess Callie.She's given one simple task: Get the murderer - a man found drunk but unconscious in a pool of blood and with the murder weapon in his hand - to confess. Abby is surprised to find that the accused is more than happy to confess, though seemingly determined to do so in the most infuriating way possible, but what does she do when her powers tell her that the man before her is not guilty of the crimes he seems convinced he has committed? What can she do when the head of the church is deadset on condemning this man to death?She soon finds herself trapped between a power-hungry Priest and a man who has accepted the guilt of a crime he didn't commit. If she looks hard enough, she might just find the truth about the Duchess' murder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (NOTE: I know Charlotte’s eyes aren’t blue in canon, but for the purpose of pain, they are in this fic)

The small village of Arkadia had been the home of Abigail Griffin for almost two decades. _Two decades_ , it was the longest she had ever stayed in one place. The small houses and the surrounding forest were all marked by memories, and not all good, but nevertheless, this was the place she called home.

She had settled in the village at the age of twenty, with her husband Jakob and the promise of family growing inside her, and for the first time in her life, she felt like she belonged. After four years on the run, it was nice to finally have a home where she didn’t have to live in fear of being called Satan’s spawn or Devil’s child or all the other nicknames, which had been a common part of most of her childhood. They had kept her powers a secret and for a long time their life in the village peaceful; Abby gave birth to a daughter who, in appearance, looked so very much like her father with shining, blonde hair and big, blue eyes, but her character reflected the stubbornness and spirit of her mother. They had raised her together, as a happy family, trying their best to give their daughter a better life than they’d had as children.

However, inevitably, Abby’s secret had gotten out and she had been forced to revisit parts of her childhood which she had been keeping buried deep for more than a decade. But she had done so, for her family, and the storm had passed – the other people of the village had been surprisingly fast to adapt to the idea of a witch living amongst them, but Abby supposed it had helped that they’d had ten years to get to know her as _a_ _person_ first – without any prospect of returning. She had been accepted for who she was, without secrets, without having to hide or lie about her abilities, and it had lead her to embrace herself as well. She had discovered that her powers did not only contain the possibility to do evil and cause pain but that they also held the ability to help people, to ease their pain. Everything was finally falling into place in Abby’s life: her family was safe, and now, for the first time in her life, she was surrounded by friends too. But sadly, all good things must come to an end.

After sixteen years in the village – sixteen years which had held struggles, as well as great joy – Abby and Jake were faced with an obstacle which would not be so easily defeated: Illness. The black plague had swept through the village stealing loved ones from their families, and it had taken Jake too.

Throughout her life, Abby had seen her share of sorrow, but nothing compared to the pain of losing the love of her life. For a long time, his death had tainted everything – the world had seemed colder, the colours less bright – and had it not been for her daughter, Abby wasn’t sure if she would have made it through. But in the end, they did. Together they made it through.

That was three years ago. The memory of Jake was no longer a piercing ache in her chest, and she no longer saw the world through the blurred filter of his loss. But even though time had healed the open wound his death had caused, he was still present in every day of her life; he was present in the ring which hung on a chain around her neck, but most of all, he was present in the bright, blue eyes and the carefree smile of their daughter, now a grown woman of almost twenty.

_At least in appearance_ , Abby thought as she observed, with a gentle smile and a slight shake of her head, how her daughter ran through the wild terrain of the forest yelling “Tag you’re it!” when her hand brushed the arm of Jasper, a slightly younger boy from the village, who straight away bolted after one of the other boys.

The plan this morning had been to take Clarke out to collect some of the medicinal herbs which grew in the rich forest floor. But when did anything ever go to plan? It hadn’t taken long before all of the older kids in the village had joined them – _or rather,_ Abby thought, _distracted them –_ and she had been left to collect the herbs herself. However, Abby could not find it within herself to admonish the playful youth. The forest seemed almost magical in these early morning hours; the rays of the summer sun tentatively broke through the treetops, reflecting in the droplets of dew, and making it seem as if the stars themselves had fallen to Earth. Above their head sounded the melodic twitter of birds as they called out for their mates, fighting not to be drowned out by the joyful laughter from the playing kids as they chased each other through trees.

Abby began making her way up a hill, all the way to the top where she knew she would find a patch of yarrow blooming in the treeline and getting plenty of sunlight. Their white petals lit up the ground immediately catching her eye. When she had picked an ample bouquet of the plant she allowed herself a moment to take in the view of the valley below her; green mountains encasing the woodlands and the wild river which had carved its way through the rough terrain. The village was well-hidden and hard to get to – one of the reasons Abby and Jake had settled there all those years ago – but the nature around it was truly beautiful.

In the distance, a flicker of movement caught her eye: one lone rider making his way along the narrow path which led to the village. Seemingly, the rider was approaching with haste making Abby grow even more confused. The village rarely got visitors, and on the few occasions they did, nothing good had come from it, not for Abby at least. Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun, the dark red colour of the rider’s robes became visible. Her heart sank. She knew those robes and knew that there was exactly one man in the world who carried them and was aware of her location.

_It can’t be him_ , her thoughts screamed at her, _it’s impossible, you made a deal that he would not contact you ever again._ Her reason fought valiantly to halt the fear that rose in her mind at the sight of the approaching figure, but even though he was still too far away for her to recognise him by the features of his face, the blood-red colour of his clothes was unmistakable. She was being summoned, again.

“Mother!” Clarke’s voice cut through the stream of her thoughts, its palpable edge of desperation immediately claiming Abby’s attention. She turned and was faced with her daughter’s sombre expression. Behind her Abby spotted the slumped form of Gael, great pain etched into his features. It didn’t take long for Abby to connect the dots: Gael’s young daughter, Charlotte, had been battling a severe case of pneumonia and it had been apparent for a while that it would require nothing short of a miracle to cure the poor girl. That miracle had not come it seemed, however, the time for Abby to ease the girl’s passing had.

She followed Gael back to his small house. The walk was not a long one, but the silence which fell around them was suffocating, and the knowledge of what was about to happen made each step feel heavy. The kids had stopped their game, the absence of their laughter made the world seem muted, even the twitter of the birds felt oddly distant. The path to the house took them past the first few homes of the village making it apparent to the rest of the villagers what was going on. They had been through this before, whenever someone was dying Abby would be summoned to ease their passing, but, thankfully, it was rare that a child so young was taken from the world.

Abby halted in front of the small settlement, letting Gael enter first and announce her arrival to his daughter and wife.

“Clarke, I don’t want you to see this, please, just go home and wait for me there?” Abby pleaded when Clarke made an attempt to follow her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” was her daughter’s response.

“Clarke-”

“Mother,” she said with a determined look in her eyes, “I’m not letting you do this alone.” With that, she grabbed her mother’s hand and stepped over the threshold and into the main room of the house.

The door slid closed behind them and they were lead into a small bedchamber. There they found Charlotte, propped up on several pillows and covered in what looked to be at least half-a-dozen blankets. The poor girl was shivering despite it all, while her forehead was pebbled with drops of sweat and violent coughing fits tore through her throat staining the sheets with specks of blood. To her left sat her mother – a blank expression on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks – with her fingers wrapped around the fragile hand of her daughter. She looked up when Abby entered the room.

“ _Please save her,_ ” she begged.

It was like a physical blow had been aimed directly at Abby’s chest. There was nothing she would rather do than save this mother’s child, but Abby had not been blessed with the power to heal or to bring back the dead, – oftentimes she cursed the world for that – her powers could only make the inevitable less painful.

“I-” Abby started but had to stop and take a deep breath when the lump in her throat would not let her words pass, “I can’t.”

“We know.” Came Gael’s sorrowful voice, “It’s alright, just… Please, will you take away her pain?”

Abby gave a small nod and settled on the side of the bed. Clarke took place behind her, letting her hands rest on her mother’s trembling shoulders. Then, Abby began.

“Charlotte, sweetie, it’s going to be okay. I just need you to open your eyes.” Abby let her hand run through the girl’s hair and over her cheek slowly coaxing her until her eyes opened. “Look into my eyes,” Abby said with her soft, melodic voice, and finally, the girl’s shining blue eyes met hers.

Abby had never paid much attention to the eyes of the young girl, but now, with her blonde hair spread out behind her head, they were suddenly all too similar to those of her daughter, those of her husband. It was as if it were Clarke in that bed, coughing up blood, dying. An intense flash of pain and fear coursed through Abby making her avert her eyes as she battled her own mind and struggled to concentrate.

“Mother?” Clarke whispered with concern in her voice, but after a brief moment, Abby shook her head.

“I’m okay.” Then she forced her attention back to the girl. “It’s gonna be okay. Just look into my eyes.” Once again, their eyes met, and this time Abby did not look away. She let her hands rest on either side of Charlotte’s face to make sure she wouldn’t break eye contact either, and then, Abby set to work. She concentrated all the energy she could muster on entering the girl’s mind and finding her memories. More specifically, her happiest memories. One after one they sprung forth and the young girl saw nothing else, _felt_ nothing else. Abby let her relive her most treasured memories, let her feel those feelings of hope and joy, and happiness one last time. The coughing stopped, the shaking too, and for those moments Charlotte was no longer in pain, she was lost in the joyous memories of her childhood.

For almost an hour Abby sat there, gazing into the girl’s eyes playing happy memories for her while her parents held her hand and stroked her hair, saying goodbye to their little girl. And then it was over.

Exhausted, Abby slumped back against her daughter, barely managing a faint nod and a muttered “my condolences” when Gael said “Thank you” through his steady stream of tears. After a brief moment of respite, Abby rose from the bed leaning heavily on Clarke, leaving the parents to their grief.

Once outside, Abby collapsed on a tree stump.

“I can’t save _anybody_ ,” she hissed under her breath staring accusingly at her shaking hands. “I can’t, I’m-”

“You did the best that you could,” Clarke said taking her mother’s hands in her own, “You always do.” Abby looked up to find her daughter staring intently at her. Her eyes were tear-stained as well but somehow, she managed a timid smile, and Abby’s heart broke a little at the sight of her daughter and the beautiful, _strong_ woman she had become. _Oh, how she wished she didn’t have to be this strong yet_. Abby wanted nothing more than to protect her daughter from the evils of this world, but as it were, in this moment, it seemed Clarke was the one protecting her. That room, losing that poor girl, it had felt like she was losing Clarke. It could so easily have been her. _But it wasn’t,_ Abby reminded herself.

“I love you, Clarke. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I know. I know, it’s okay.”

As her strength slowly began returning to her Abby moved to pull her daughter into a tight embrace. “Let’s go home,” she murmured into Clarke’s hair before giving her a final squeeze.

They rose together and began making their way towards their small cottage which lay at the very back end of the village. Clarke let her armrest around her mother’s shoulder and Abby gratefully welcomed the support. She still felt drained, not only as an effect of using her powers so intensely for such a long period of time; it was taxing being _this_ person for the whole village, being the person, everyone expected to be there when someone was sick, badly injured, or dying. It brought her great joy to help others, of course, it did, but at times like these when she couldn’t really _help_ , the strain it had on her emotions seemed to overshadow the comfort she had brought poor Charlotte’s parents.

Abby was leaning on Clarke, trusting her to lead the way home. Her eyes were not fixed on the road ahead or on their house at it became visible behind the other cottages, she was even too lost in her own thoughts to notice the red-clad man leaning against their front gate. It wasn’t until a neigh emerged from the man’s black horse that Abby’s mind was pulled back to reality.

The sight made her stop in her tracks.

“Mother?” Clarke blurted out. Suddenly, the roles had switched, and it was now Abby who, with a firm grip on her daughter’s arm, held her back.

 “Would you mind dropping these off at Jackson’s?” Abby asked hurriedly, handing her daughter the basket of the herbs she had gathered this morning.

Clarke just looked at her, puzzled by her sudden change of demeanour.

“He promised me he would dry them up for me,” Abby clarified though she was well aware that that was not what was confusing her daughter.

“Who is that?” Clarke demanded.

“Clarke-” Abby began but the words halted when the man raised his hand in greeting.

“Why does he look familiar?”

“Clarke, _please._ ” Her voice sounded desperate, even to her own ears, but she would not make the mistake of letting this man get close to her family ever again. “I don’t want you near him.”

“What’s going on?” It was clear to Abby that her daughter was not oblivious to the unusual rush of fear which had struck the moment she saw this person. Whoever this was, he was dangerous enough to make her mother afraid. That in and of itself was unsettling. Abby Griffin wasn’t the kind of person who grew anxious the moment something unexpected happened, in fact, Clarke could only remember having seen her mother this scared once or twice before.

The worry in Abby’s eyes stopped Clarke’s inquiries. She hesitated for a moment and couldn’t help herself from staring rather indiscreetly at their uninvited guest. He was the epitome of a tall, dark stranger, but there was an ominous air to his appearance. He was too calm, too relaxed, not rising to meet them, just waiting for them to come to him like a predator that knows his prey has been ensnared and it won’t take long before the trap will shut.

“I want to help, mother. I can help.”

“Then go see Jackson.” Abby was determined; she would not have Clarke mixed up in whatever mess this man had brought to her door.

“Alright,” she conceded sensing that her mother would not be argued with, “But I’m coming home once we’re done preparing the herbs.”

Abby let out a sigh. It was a poor compromise, Abby knew it wouldn’t even take half an hour for Clarke to finish up with Jackson, but her daughter’s stubborn glare – one that Abby knew all too well – told her that she could not persuade her to stay away for longer than that. _This will have to be settled quickly then,_ Abby thought, though she had never had any plans of entertaining their guest for any longer than what was necessary.

 “Okay,” Abby gave in with a curt nod handing her daughter the basket of herbs.

“I feel like I ought to tell you to be careful,” Clarke said throwing the man yet another suspicious glance.

“I’ll be fine,” Abby reassured, “You go find Jackson. I’ll take care of Jaha.” The name clearly made something click inside Clarke’s mind, though she still didn’t seem to recall why exactly the name sounded familiar. Abby gave her a gentle push in the direction of Jackson’s house when she hesitated. “I can handle him, don’t worry.” Clarke didn’t move, clearly still trying to patch together her lacking memories of a man coming to take her mother away when she was not yet old enough to understand what was going on.

“Clarke, sweetie,” Abby said with an edge of reprimand in her voice, “Go see Jackson.”

Finally, Clarke began to walk away, and Abby was left to face Jaha alone. She allowed herself half a second to take a deep breath and compose herself, then she made her way towards her house and the man waiting for her there.

 “A shame, I would have loved to say hello to Clarke again. She’s grown quite a bit since I saw her last.” The familiar tones of Jaha’s voice rang out as she approached. His inquiry after Clarke sent shivers down Abby’s spine, but she deemed it best to just let his weak attempt at a greeting slide. If she wanted this to be over quickly, letting him get to her was the last thing she should do.

“Why are you here Thelonious?” she questioned when she came to a halt right in front of him, purposefully evading to open the small, wooden gate which would let him into their front garden.

“I’m glad you asked,” he began, but Abby cut him off.

“We had a deal. I did what you asked and in return, you promised to leave me and my family alone.”

“Something has come up.” His voice was calm, patient even, but with the kind of patience one had when they knew they were going to get what they wanted in the end.

“Something’s come up?!” Abby hissed. “That’s your excuse for breaking our deal?”

“Abby.” His hand landed on her shoulder, but she shook it off immediately. “Why don’t we go inside, and you hear me out?”

He was not giving up as easily as she’d hoped, and though she might be reluctant to follow his suggestion and invite him into her home, having this conversation in public did not seem to be the best idea either.

Careful to keep a composed exterior, she gave him a curt nod, opened the small gate, and led him through her front door.

Once inside, Abby pulled out a chair and gestured for him to sit down.

“Alright then, talk,” Abby said, not bothering with pleasantries such as offering him food or a drink even though she knew that the distance he had travelled to get to Arkadia was a long one.

Jaha sat down, his movements slow and measured. Abby stayed standing.

“I’ve come to ask for your assistance,” he started.

“Ask for my _help_ you mean. Not surprising, but why now? We had an agreement, which you honoured for _nine_ years, so why break it now? What happened?” Abby was growing increasingly suspicious. For some reason, he was stalling, and it worried her; whatever he was going to ask of her, she was not going to like it, and knowing his methods… well, let’s just say that if she didn’t agree to do as he said, it would have consequences.

Sensing her impatience, he decided to put his cards on the table. “I need you to get a confession out of someone.”

Abby let out an indignant huff. “Of course, you do.” She was the furthest from surprised, really, she had expected this from the moment she saw his figure approaching through the valley. “But it’s not going to happen. I don’t do that anymore, _you know that_.”

“I think you might want to reconsider your retirement.” He looked at her for a long while, as if he were deliberating where to throw his first punch.

“I won’t,” she said defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest, “You have nothing to offer me, nothing I want.” She was gratefully aware that he had come alone this time, without any men to suddenly ambush her.

“Are you suggesting that I would blackmail you into compliance? Abby…” He feigned disappointment. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Oh, I know you.” Visions of Jake with a young, crying Clarke clinging to his leg as they were surrounded by soldiers flashed through her mind. _She knew full well what he was capable of._

“I was simply going to suggest that you do what’s best for your daughter and her friends. It’d be such a shame if they woke up to discover that the village, their _home_ , was in flames.”

“Threatening the whole village now, Thelonious, really?” Abby cursed herself inwardly for not having left Arkadia the second he found out that she lived there. She should have known better than to think he would honour their agreement.

“You should be flattered, Abby. Look at everything I’m willing to sacrifice to get your help.”

“You’re not the one sacrificing anything. They’re innocent!”

“Then come with me, simple as that.”

“And leave my daughter? Not going to happen.”

“You’ll barely be gone a week. If Clarke is anything like her mother, she will be fine without you,” he countered her nonchalantly.

Abby knew he’d won. If it came to protect her daughter and their home, she would always do what was needed, even if just the thought of returning to Fort Weather, _to do his bidding_ , felt like torture.

Her silence told him all he needed to know.

With a self-satisfied smirk, he rose from the chair and stood, once again, tall in front of her. “Pack your things, I’ll be waiting outside.” He pushed the door open and stepped outside nearly toppling Clarke right over.

“Clarke!” he exclaimed, “You came just in time for goodbyes.” Then he walked straight past her.

“What’s going on? What does he mean ‘goodbyes’?” Abby grabbed her daughter’s arm before she could set after Jaha and pulled her into the house.

“They need me at Fort Weather,” Abby said deciding that it would probably be best not to tell Clarke that she wasn’t going _entirely_ of her own free will. “It’ll only be a week, nothing too serious.”

“Fort Weather? Father told me not to mention that around you, why would you go back there, and with _him_?” she ended glancing accusingly out the still-open door.

“They need my help with something.” Abby threw Jaha a begrudging glare.

Clarke hesitated for a second then added silently: “That’s what you said last time you left.”

She clearly had some faint memory of that night nine years ago. _Probably nothing good,_ Abby thought.

“Honey, this is nothing like last time.” _This is exactly like last time,_ whispered a small voice in her mind. “One week and I’ll be back. You can take care of yourself, you’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Why did you even agree to go?” She looked intently at Abby who stayed silent, reluctant to answer her question. _The less she knows the better,_ she thought.

“Just a week,” Abby said after a short pause. Her statement ended their talk; she was going, it was decided, and Clarke knew that. Abby stepped back, disappearing into the bedroom for a few short moments before she re-emerged with a saddle bag in hand.

With a slight trace of worry, she pulled her daughter into a crushing embrace. “Take care of yourself.” Abby’s words almost drowned in Clarke’s golden hair.

“You too,” Clarke responded as she took a step back with mild apprehension. Abby nodded, then she stepped outside and walked to the stables to saddle up their only horse, a brown mare named Eden.

It took way too little time for Abby to get everything settled. Clarke stayed by the door keeping her distance from Jaha who was impatiently waiting for Abby atop his black steed.

“There’s still some dried meat out back, and bread in the cupboard. Jackson borrowed our pot yesterday, so ask him for it when you need to boil water,” Abby said after having given Clarke one last hug.

“I know, mother. I can take care of myself, I’m not a child anymore.”

Abby broke away. “I know, sweetheart, I know.” Abby knew she was fussing unnecessarily, but she couldn’t help it. “I love you.”

“See you in a week, promise?”

“A week, I promise.” And with that Abby pulled herself up and settled in her saddle. Jaha waited for her to lead the way but made sure to stay close behind her as soon as she set down the path through the village out into the valley and the land which lay beyond. A three-day ride to Fort Weather with Jaha at her heels; _what better way to spend one’s time?_ Abby thought with heavy sarcasm. Once again, she was on her way to Fort Weather and to whichever poor soul had ended up on Thelonious Jaha’s bad side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as first meetings go, this one is... less than ideal

The city surrounding Fort Weather was not a place Abby had missed. Even if she tried to look past the fact that this was the place from which most of her troubles had come, Abby could not find it within herself to enjoy the narrow, crowded streets or the incessant sound of people arguing, trading, or engaging in lively conversations about the newest gossip.

They had left the horses in the stables just outside the city walls, so now, Abby was wading through the grime which covered the cobbled streets. Almost three full days on the road with no change of clothes had not been kind to her already frayed skirts and this surely did nothing to improve her appearance. Abby shook her head. Her appearance hardly mattered, what mattered was getting this over with, so she could be on her way home, to Clarke.

It was quite a long walk to the interrogation room – a room which Abby was all too familiar with – and with each step, she felt herself grow more and more weary. She was exhausted to the bone. They had made the journey in good time because she had refused to take any more breaks than what was strictly necessary, but it had meant that her body was aching all over and it only felt heavier as she followed behind Thelonious. Her mind felt foggy, too, from lack of sleep. Whenever she caught the gaze of someone on the street she was convinced they physically shied away from her. Though she supposed that might, in fact, be the case. It wasn’t unlikely that some of these people remembered her from her last visit, some of the older residents might even remember her from the very beginning, remember the _witch_ who had been the cause of so much pain and death.

Yet more people averted their gaze, a small group hushed their conversation as she passed. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt anger flare in her chest. There was no doubt, these people knew exactly who Jaha had brought with him; they knew who she was, what she was capable of, what she had done.

A defeated exhale fell from her lips which prompted Jaha to stop and turn to her.

“Is everything okay?” he asked with no real sense of concern in his voice. “You don’t have to do this now, it’s getting late, we can wait till morning if you are too exhausted.”

Steeling herself, Abby clenched her jaw and met his gaze with defiant eyes. “I’m fine.” Her tone left no room for further discussion, though, she was not convinced there would have even been one since Thelonious didn’t seem to care about anything as long as she agreed to do what he asked.

After a few more minutes’ walk, they finally came to a halt in front of a small, wooden door in the side of the main keep.

“After you,” Jaha offered as he pulled it open.

Abby stepped inside without a word.

“Down the hallway to the -”

“I remember the way,” she cut him off and began her way towards the interrogation room. The halls were dark – the only source of light was a flickering torch every few metres – and the smell of mould hung thickly in the air making it hard to breathe.

The first thing Abby noticed when she turned the final corner was the lack of guards. Normally, two guards would be posted at the door before and during the interrogation, but all Abby could see was two empty chairs beside the door. For a brief moment she wondered if she had in fact forgotten the layout of this place, but then Jaha stepped in front of her and started in a hushed voice:

“Here’s what you’re going to do: You’re going to _break_ him, you understand? I don’t just need him to confess to _you_ , I need to be sure that when he is brought out there,” Jaha pointed in what Abby knew to be the direction of the square in front of the keep – the square which was used for “public entertainment”, or put more bluntly, the place where criminals were executed – “he won’t start babbling about being innocent or anything like that. This man is crazy and dangerous, I can’t have him telling lies out there, so you make sure that the only thing on his mind is the murder he has committed and his guilt.”

“You seem awfully sure he’s guilty,” Abby started sceptically, “I thought determining that was _my_ job?”

“Not this time, not with _him_.”

Abby stood for a long moment trying to figure out what the look in Thelonious’ eyes meant. He was angry, that much was clear, but the more Abby studied him, the more desperate he began to seem, maybe even scared, though of what exactly Abby couldn’t tell.

“What exactly is he guilty of?” Abby furrowed her brow in suspicious confusion. Almost three full days on the road together and yet she had not been able to get that bit of information out of him.

“He murdered the Duchess.” Suddenly all the emotion which had been shining in his eyes was replaced with a dark emptiness. “He stabbed her _seventeen_ times, in cold blood. He didn’t even bother to run. I found him passed out in a chair with the knife in his hand, covered in blood, and her body lying at his feet, still warm.”

Abby shivered. She felt her breathing stop and the blood drain from her face.

“So, you see,” Jaha spoke again, “What you will find behind that door is not a man, it is a monster.” He stepped aside and pulled out his bundle of keys. Abby could do nothing but stand stock-still and watch as he slowly unlocked the door with a _click_ and pulled it open. Hesitantly, she took a step forward, then another, then another again until she was standing in the door opening half expecting some wild beast of a man to run at her screaming, throw her to the ground and end her life right then and there. However, that was not what she saw.

Inside the room, which was lit by a couple of torches on the opposing wall, she saw the silhouette of what appeared to be an ordinary man. He was leaning against the table in the middle of the room, his back turned to the door, he didn’t move, didn’t say a word as she stepped into the room. It wasn’t until the door was closed and the sound of the key turning in the lock had faded that he gave the slightest indication of being anything but a simple statue made of stone.

“This is the first time I’ve been out of the dungeon in over a _week_.” His voice was low and surprisingly soft, but what really caught Abby’s attention was the weight of emotion it seemed to carry. Whatever kind of monster Thelonious had made her believe this man was, did not seem to fit the person before her now. The man sighed and through her confused mind, which was trying to piece the horrors Thelonious had described together with the man in front of her, rose a sense of pity. His shoulders were slumped, and his neck bent, he didn’t strike Abby as someone who would be capable of that kind of evil. She wasn’t sure what to say, she wasn’t sure what to _think_ , but she didn’t have to. Not many moments passed before he continued: “I’d forgotten the stench of shit wasn’t reserved for the dungeons.” His voice had suddenly turned cold while his body went rigid and just like that, any remorse she might have felt for him vanished like dew in the morning sun.

Abby let out an indignant huff which rang out way too loudly against the damp stone walls of the small room. That made him turn to face her.

“So,” he said as he straightened his posture, in his full height he was almost tall enough to reach the ceiling, “You’re supposed to be the terrifying, all-powerful witch, huh?”

Abby swallowed but raised her chin determined not to be intimidated. Her eyes quickly caught the spatter of blood on his shirt, which she supposed had once been white – apart from dried blood, the fabric was also covered in big patches of mud – his pants seemed to be better off, but she supposed that was only due to the dark brown colour of the fabric. Everything seemed to hang loosely on him, even his dark hair fell in unruly curls around his face, well, everything except his face. His mouth was set in a smug smirk beneath the salt and pepper beard which covered his jaw and because of the lack of proper lighting in the room, his eyes were nothing but two dark shadows beneath his brows. There was an air of complacency around him and Abby was sure he would have crossed his arms over his chest had they not been tied safely together at his front.

 Despite the fact that he knew of her powers he did not seem even the faintest amount of scared and Abby felt irritation rise further inside her. He had no _idea_ what she could do to him, what she could make him _feel_.

“Sit,” she ordered curtly and gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the table. She waited while he hesitated for a moment and didn’t sit down until he was settled in front of her.

“You’re wasting your time, he has already decided that I’m guilty.” His voice retained some of the sarcasm from his earlier remark, but a deeper emotion seemed to cling to his words as well. Abby ignored it, too frustrated with his smug façade to let his attempts at some kind of feeble vulnerability get to her.

“Aren’t you?” she deadpanned.

He didn’t answer right away. It was almost imperceptible, but Abby swore she saw his shoulders slouch a bit and his smirk falter.

“Maybe I am,” he mumbled, his voice so low she could barely make out the words.

“What’s that?”

“I said: _I am_ ,” he said coldly as his body tensed up again, now filled with anger. Abby couldn’t tell who he was directing it against – Jaha, her, himself? – but she could feel it as if it were a physical presence in the air. _That’s not possible,_ her mind argued, _it takes months to form a connection to another human so strong that you can sense their feelings just by breathing the same air_. It didn’t make sense. Even with Jake, it had taken almost two months before she began to be able to feel what he felt without touching him, without looking into his eyes. Abby shook her head and just like that the pulsing sensations of his anger evaporated. She must simply have been imagining something that wasn’t there, it must just have been a result of her own emotions running high, and yet, she couldn’t help the feeling that something was very wrong with this whole situation; _if he was so eager to confess, why on Earth had Thelonious gone through the trouble of breaking their deal to bring her back here?_ Abby figured there was only one way to find out.

“Put your hands on the table,” she said with a calm voice.

“No.”

Abby felt irritation flare up inside her once again. He must have known this was what she did, must have know this was coming, but he just sat there stock-still with his tied hands beneath the table.

“It wasn’t a question,” she said sharply, but he still didn’t make the slightest inclination to move.

“I confess, I did it. You have what you came for, there’s no need for that.” He gestured to her outstretched hands with a slight nod of his head.

Abby glared at him intently, his head ducked and his hair falling across his forehead hiding his eyes from hers.

“ _Hands. On. The table._ ” Her voice rang out powerfully in the small room. He looked up and their eyes met for the first time. No longer hidden in the shadows, she was faced with two big, brown eyes staring right back into her own; they bore the same coldness as his voice but as she held his gaze, she saw the resentful defiance fade and give way to something she might have called fear.

He gave in and reluctantly moved his hands to rest on the table. Abby broke their eye contact at the movement, a satisfied smirk on her lips. That, however, disappeared quickly when her gaze returned to meet his eyes. Once again, she was hit by the force of his emotions, this time it was his fear. She felt it fill the air and take away her breath, but only for a second, then it was gone.

She glanced at his hands again and felt doubt rise inside her. Thelonious’ words rang through her mind: _“You’re going to break him. You make sure that the only thing on his mind is the murder he has committed and his guilt.”_ She didn’t want to do this, but she knew that if she didn’t get Thelonious exactly what he wanted, the consequences would befall her and her daughter, and she wouldn’t let that happen. Still, she couldn’t help but hesitate; there was a part of her – though one she did not want to confront – that wasn’t convinced this man truly was the _monster_ she had been told he was. In the end, it was just as much out of curiosity as necessity that she finally wrapped her strong hands around his and sought out his, now fearful, eyes.

The first thing Abby felt was an overwhelming sense of dizziness. The memory which had surfaced was blurry and she had no way of knowing what was going on. Her head was pounding and felt unbelievably heavy. A few seconds later she began to hear the muted voice of a woman. She couldn’t make out the words, and couldn’t see the woman either, though she noticed the calm but insistent tone of her voice. The next thing she felt was anger; an erratic kind of rage that had flared inside of him at her words. And finally, his vision seemed to clear up.

The dizziness persisted making it harder for her to discern what was going on in the darkened room she saw. Flashes of a candle that seemed to burn too brightly in his eyes, the room was spinning and suddenly there she was, Callie, the Duchess of Fort Weather. She was dressed in a white nightdress with her hair down. Her brows knitted together in worry. _Worry, not fear_ , Abby noticed, _Why was she not afraid?_ Abby saw her lips moving, but the only sound she heard was the rushing of blood in _his_ ears, the pulsing sound of anger as it coursed through him. She saw the Duchess reach out for him – _Why would she do that? –_ and saw as the man whose shaking hands she was currently holding slapped her hand away and staggered backwards. Beneath his anger, she felt a persistent kind of sadness.

He took a large swig of a bottle he held in his hand, the lukewarm liquid burned its way down his throat, numbed and ignited his body and mind at the same time. She heard his voice, loud but not clear enough for her to make out all of his words, she only caught fragments: “ _Burden!_ ”, “ _Gone for good_!” The world spun as he staggered for a moment, clearly struggling to stay upright, he took a few wobbly steps in her direction. “ _No!_ ” Abby heard the Duchess exclaim but still Callie made no move to run. Then, as if he were an arrow just released from the bowstring, Abby felt his body charge forward.

Everything went black.

Abby was just about to break the connection, pull away from his touch and out of his mind, when another memory flared before her eyes. Red, dark red. She felt how his head was pounding, felt the odd sense of something warm covering his hands and chest. Blood. He was covered in it. His first instinct was confusion, then fear, then _guilt_. Abby was so shaken by the macabre image she was seeing that she barely had time to make a note of the emotion before it was gone, but she caught it just as it began to fade, and instead of letting it ebb out to be replaced by the growing sorrow she felt was coming, she latched onto it and poured all of her remaining energy into that feeling of guilt until she felt it fill him up and overwhelm him. Then she yanked her hands away from his; the connection was severed.

Abby closed her eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. They were probably more _his_ than they were tears of her own, and yet, the scene she had just seen play out before her had been so gruesome and the _feelings_ that had coursed through him in his drunken rage had, for some reason, felt so real, almost like they were _her_ feelings _._

She let out a gasp for air and had to take several deep, calming breaths before she dared open her eyes again. The room seemed darker now as if the horrors she had just seen lingered in the shadows of the room sucking up any light that may venture there. The heat, too, seemed more distant than it had before. The whole world seemed _tainted_. Her eyes landed on the form before her, “form” because it would have been wrong to call it a man after what she had just seen. He was slumped over, shaking, and once again covered in shadows; her job was done.

Slowly, half afraid he was suddenly going to jump from his seat and charge at her like he had with the Duchess, Abby stood up and walked to the door. If he heard her get up he made no indication of it, so she left him alone in the room with no final exchange of words. A part of her brain – the part that still did not believe this man to be the monster Thelonious had painted him out to be – whispered that that was probably for the best, she _had_ to believe what she had seen was true because delivering the pieces of this broken man was the only thing that would get her out of this city and back to her daughter. So, when she was faced with Thelonious Jaha, standing by the door where he had in all likelihood been listening to whatever went on inside, she did not meet his eyes in fear of his usual cold expression planting any more doubt in her mind. The only thing on her mind was to get out. She grabbed the satchel she had brought with her from home and walked straight past him.

“It’s done,” was her only words; raspy and hollowed out by what she had just seen and what she, sealed with those two words, had done. He made no move to follow her outside, he just let her walk out alone and finally, _free_.

Once she finally emerged from the claustrophobic, narrow hallways and out into the night air she made the mistake of thinking she could at least take a deep breath now. She couldn’t. In the aftermath of the events of this evening she had forgotten how suffocating even the so-called fresh air of the city was. She had to stop mid-inhale and instead let out a cough when her airways were blocked by the stench of too many people living too closely and with no means of disposing their waste.

“ _The stench of shit isn’t reserved for the dungeons._ ” His voice rag out in her mind, unwelcome but she couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried to push them down there were things that did not make sense about all of this. Like the sadness which she had felt so deeply rooted in him as he confronted the Duchess and the regret she had seen flash in his eyes; however briefly, it was there. And then there was the part that nagged her the most: his motive. Or rather, his lack thereof. She had felt his anger sure, but she had no way of knowing what had prompted it. From the few things Jaha had told her on the journey here the man was a farmer, he didn’t even live inside the city walls, so logically, he would have no connection to the Duchess. Unless the role of the Duchess of Fort Weather had changed drastically over the past two decades, the Duchess would have no occasion to see the commoners except for on the rare occasion she chose to parade through the city, everything else would be handled by the church, by Thelonious. There was simply no explanation for their meeting and no motive to explain his actions.

Abby shook her head. The quiet of the sleeping city had had the opposite effect on her, instead of simply calming her down it had opened the floodgates to her conscience and made disconcerting questions rise in her mind.

She had been walking just for the sake of walking for a while, but even though her thoughts were flitting around her head she became increasingly aware that her body would not possess the energy to keep upright for much longer.

The dim lights from a tavern caught her eye and she decided it might be best to get some rest before beginning her journey back home, so she went in. The main room of the establishment was empty save for one man who stood behind the bar, his back facing her. _It really must be late_ , she thought at the absence of guests, but the warm interior muffled her thoughts and prevented her from going any further down that train of thought.

“Excuse me?” She questioned to get the barkeep’s attention, “Any chance you’ve got a free room available for the night?”

“Sure lassie, just up the-” he stopped the moment he turned and realised who – and what – she was. His face fell. “We don’t serve your kind here,” he said with a gruff voice.

This was the _last_ thing Abby needed. She was tired and dirty and hungry and all she wanted was to be shown just the smallest amount of respect, but apparently, even that was too much to ask.

“I suppose that means you don’t have any food either,” she snapped, her patience far beyond worn thin. “You know,” she began and stepped further into the tavern, “I could make you do anything I wanted.” Even in her exhausted state she did not miss the flash of fear in his eyes. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her feel a sense of satisfaction. “But I won’t do that. You know why?” He shook his head. She kept moving towards the bar with slow steps. “Because today has been _hell_ and I am _done_ being told what to do, because I am tired beyond imagination and because, and this might surprise you, I am _not_ a bad person _._ ” When the final words had left her lips, it hit her that they were directed more at herself then the now-trembling barkeep, but she shook off the wave of emotion that followed the realisation. Now was not the time.

“Now,” she continued, “point me to a room or I might just turn into the _witch_ you think I am.” It wasn’t until she felt him pull his arm out from under her hand that she realised she had made it all the way to the counter and somehow used some of her powers on him. Now it was her turn to feel guilty. She hadn’t meant to, she really hadn’t, but she was beside herself in every way and the only thing on her mind had been the promise of a warm bed.

With shaking hands, he pointed her to the stairs.

“Thank you,” she muttered slightly ashamed and began the climb towards rest, at last. The need for food and the urge to wash herself evaporated the moment she entered the small room and lay eyes on the bed. In the rational part of her brain she knew that there was nothing spectacular about it, but in her exhausted state all she needed was one look at the blanket-covered hay to make her collapse right onto it and fall asleep.

If she’d had the energy to pay even the slightest attention to herself and her body – beyond the heavy tiredness – she might have noticed that the brief flash of guilt had not yet disappeared, instead it lingered and settled in her bones. If she’d had the energy, she might even have noticed that the source of the guilt was not herself, but rather a man who was across town currently being dragged back to the darkest cell of the dungeons. However, she had not a single drop og energy left in her body; her mind was hazy, and weariness made her numb, so she simply slipped away into the black abyss of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts this and hides in shame* I'm sorry it's been so long but this chapter is longer than the previous ones so I hope that makes up for my slow ass ^.^
> 
> Thanks to anyone who's somehow still here

By the time Abby woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. Somehow, she had managed to sleep straight through the early-morning twitter of birds and the bustle of the city waking. The events of yesterday had really taken their toll on her. Images from the night before flashed before her eyes: the man with eyes which tried their best to keep something hidden from her, and Thelonious in all his reserved coldness. She shook her head and rose from the bed only to halt mid-movement and grip the bedpost for support when she recalled the last glimpse she had gotten of the other man; covered in darkness and gripping the table with considerable force as his whole body shook. Then the visions of his memories resurfaced and she shivered. That was the man she had left to the mercy of Thelonious Jaha. But then again, why was that not the man her mind had initially remembered him to be?

Her rumbling stomach thankfully halted her thoughts and reminded her that it had been almost a full day since she’d last eaten. She shook off her conflicted feelings and began to dress.

It was out of her hands and there was nothing she could do about it.

After having paid for her room, she left the tavern - she didn’t dare to inconvenience the owner by staying for breakfast, not that she had intended to do so. So, instead, Abby would begin her journey home, with a small detour through the marketplace to stock up on food and then she’d be off, on her merry way back to Arkadia with no intention of looking back. 

She arrived at the marketplace, only to discovered that it looked nothing like she remembered. The last time she was there hadn’t exactly been under happy circumstances but nevertheless, the fort had been flourishing and busy as ever under the old Duke’s stately reign. This - she let her eyes sweep over her surroundings - was a dull and muted version. It wasn’t that she doubted the Duchess’ abilities to oversee the fort, quite the opposite in fact. Though Abby had not known the woman intimately, she had seen how devout the Duchess had been to her father and how kindly she had treated every person she came in contact with. It was clear to see that the city suffered under the loss of a benevolent ruler.  _ And now they’d gained a selfish tyrant _ , her mind whispered. To her knowledge, the Duchess hadn’t had any children which meant that, in all likelihood, Jaha would be in charge until a successor was found - which, in Abby’s experience, was no easy task.

The sky was slowly being invaded by heavy clouds foreshadowing an oncoming rainfall and the humid air made every breath feel laboured, like the despair of the city hanging in the air. She made her way around the marketplace with purpose, her cloak drawn closely around her and eyes perpetually adverted in the hope that she could avoid being recognised. In the end, she doubted the cloak would have been necessary. No one seemed to pay much attention to her as long as she paid for the things she bought - which were insanely overpriced due to failing crops. 

Abby sighed as she broke a loaf of bread, she had bought, in two and stuffed the bigger half back in her pack. The oppressive atmosphere was doing nothing to distract her from her guilty conscience, which occasionally reared its head.

She just needed to get home to Clarke and then she’d be able to put all of this behind her. She had done what she had to do to ensure her and her daughter’s safety. That was all that mattered. So why wasn’t she able to silence the persistent little voice in her head? There was an answer to that question of course - an answer that would force her to reevaluate the morals of her actions, an answer she did not like and thus she did her best to fabricate an excuse that could rationally explain the growing feeling that her work here wasn’t done.

_ Sinclair! _

Her mind offered the explanation as she rounded a corner and his quaint little woodshop came into view. Granted, he most likely didn’t have anything to do with her conflicted feelings, but she would take anything at this point as long as it put a stop to her inner monologue. She couldn’t very well visit Fort Weather without dropping by and saying hello to her old friend. Clarke was home safe and Abby technically did have a few hours to spare before she had to ride out, so paying Sinclair a short visit would be the right thing to do. 

Grateful that she had now found something to distract her thoughts before she set out on her journey home - a journey which would have her alone on the road with no such distractions for days on end - Abby started down the narrow street towards his house. 

Jacapo Sinclair lived with his daughter, Raven, in a small, two-story house built right up against the city walls. The half-timbered house was covered in wild ivy, making it possible to climb its walls and up onto the roof. She had heard many stories from Jake about how beautiful the sunsets were from that spot; how you could see for miles and miles out across the fields as they slowly changed colour from pale yellow to rich orange, pinks, and purples before the sun finally slipped below the horizon and shrouded the world in darkness. She had yet to see a sunset like that for herself.

“Abby?” The surprised face of Sinclair appeared in the open doorway and before she knew what was happening, he had enveloped her in a welcoming embrace. “I didn’t know whether to expect you while you were in town. I know you don’t make social calls,” he said in jest. “How come I am such honoured today?”

Abby couldn’t help but smile at his apparent joy at seeing her again. It had been far too long since they’d had seen each other last and nearly a decade since he’d seen her in the city, but here she was. 

“It’s good to see you again,” she said. “I’m about to leave but I figured I should stop by and say hi.” 

Sinclair nodded in understanding and gestured for her to follow him inside. 

Her eyes slid over the wooden furniture and the panelling on the cabinets which hung along a wall in the main living space. Everything was decorated with intricate carvings making the relatively small and humble house look more grand than any commoners’ house Abby had seen. 

“You’re always welcome to come visit,” Sinclair said as he offered her a place to sit.

“I know,” Abby smiled, appreciating the offer of hospitality even though she knew he was well aware of what her answer would be. “I wish I could but...”

“I know,” he echoed when she trailed off, effectively stopping the conversation before it took them down a path Abby had no desire to revisit. For that she was grateful.

“So, how’s Raven doing?” She turned to a safer topic. The young woman was something else entirely, always equipped with a wide smile and witty conversation, she was an absolute delight. 

To Abby’s disappointment, however, the girl was running errands for her father. It was the middle of a Wednesday afternoon and even though the city wasn’t exactly busy - actually, it had felt rather desolate to Abby - there were things to do for a woodcarver. So, in the absence of his apprentice, who had suddenly been compelled to pay an urgent visit to his sister who didn’t live at the Fort, Sinclair had sent Raven to pick up some new tools for him.

As they continued to talk, Abby couldn’t help but notice how her friend kept wringing his hands or shaking his leg beneath the table. As happy as he had seemed when she showed up, something appeared to be weighing greatly on his mind.

“Okay enough,” Abby said reaching out to put a hand on his arm and still his movements. “What’s wrong?”

He avoided her questioning eyes and she immediately pulled her hand back wondering if he thought she would use her powers on him. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s not that!” he said urgently and Abby released a breath of relief. “It’s just- I know how much you want to get home to Clarke but...” Abby furrowed her brow, not sure where this was going. “You said you found Blake guilty and I just don’t believe that that’s true.” His final sentence almost fell out of his mouth leaving Abby stunned for a moment.

“Blake?” Abby questioned after a moment, utterly confused.

“Yes, Blake, Marcus Blake, the man you were here to see.”

She felt a brief flicker of recognition at the mention of the name Marcus, but it was brief and buried so deep in her memory that she barely had time to notice it before it was gone and she turned back to the more pressing issue.

“Why would you think he isn’t guilty?” She asked defensively. This was decidedly  _ not _ what she was hoping to get out of this visit. “I told you what I saw. He confessed for Christ sake!”

“You also said you couldn’t see much because he was blind drunk,” Sinclair countered with an almost apologetic look in his eyes. “I know this is a lot to ask you but, Abby, Jaha will kill him for this. Unless you convince him that Blake is innocent.”

Abby huffed at that. The idea of even trying to convince Jaha of that man’s innocence was absurd. It had been clear how hell-bent he had been on getting him to the gallows. “You’re right, that is a lot to ask.”

“Abby please, you can’t let an innocent man die. That’s not who you are.”

The sentence was a jab to the heart but she couldn’t let herself believe what her friend was saying. “How can you be so certain of his innocence? He himself seemed pretty convinced he did it.”

“Abby, I’ve known this man for six years. He couldn’t have done this.” Sinclair’s words were tinged with an edge of desperation as he pleaded for her to believe him. It only grew harder and harder to counter his arguments and Abby soon felt the fragile dam she had built around her flickering guilty conscience start to crumble. 

It was no longer possible for her to just shut this out and shove it down until she forgot. There would be no forgetting this if she left things the way they were at this moment. Perhaps it had been naïve of her to think that she could return here and leave again like it hadn’t happened at all.

She dropped her head into her hands with a defeated breath of air.

“I’m sorry Abby,” came Sinclair’s voice, “I wish there was a way to clean this mess up without you getting involved.” She could tell that he really meant it.

“I promised Clarke I’d be gone no more than a week,” she said looking back up, “I have to leave tomorrow morning - or preferably tonight - but I’ll see what I can do before then.” And just like that, she somehow found herself willingly positioning herself for another confrontation with the man with the dark hair and even darker eyes - Marcus, she found herself correcting - and by extension, Thelonious Jaha.

Sinclair nodded in response to her compromise. He knew her well enough to know that as much as she, of course, wanted to do her friend this favour, this was really driven just as much by her own need for resolution. Abby had never been one to settle for half-truths and conjecture.

“I should go,” Abby said. The atmosphere had suddenly become sombre and the joy she had felt at seeing her old friend had vapourised in the wake of where their conversation had led them.

Again, Sinclair nodded. The apology plastered in his eyes told her that this wasn’t the way he’d hoped this visit would have gone either and that he hated leaving it here as much as she did. But if this man really was his friend Abby knew there had to be more to it than a simple, horrible, cold-blooded murder. Sinclair was a good man with the habit of attracting good friends.

They rose from their seats, ready to go their separate ways for now, but Abby halted before she reached the door, shaking her head. Yes, she was being delayed in returning home to Clarke, but not according to her initial plan of being gone a week. There was no reason for her to let a minor delay ruin what had up until now been a pleasant meeting between friends. 

Just as she opened her mouth to say  _ something _ in the hope of ending their conversation on a pleasant note, the door flew open giving her a thorough startle as a brown-haired girl flung her arms around her.

“Abby!” Raven exclaimed as she hugged her. “Father said you weren’t going to stop by, but I knew you couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see me.” She pulled away to send a look in her father’s direction and flashed Abby a bright smile. 

“It’s good to see you too, Raven.” Abby reciprocated the girl’s smile. “I was afraid I was gonna miss you when you weren’t at home. I hear you’ve been busy after your father’s apprentice left.”

“A little, but he should be back tomorrow,” Raven said with little interest, “I’d rather talk about what you’ve been up to. Did you tell Jaha to confess himself or find another scapegoat?” Her tone was eager and she smiled in impatient anticipation of the answer but to Abby’s surprise, there seemed to be no joke in her eyes. Raven clearly held the same beliefs as her father but what struck her was the implication that Jaha was somehow involved. 

The man was no saint, which was ironic, since he was supposed to be a devoted clergyman, but a murderer? Abby couldn’t quite bring herself to think that. Cold and resentful? Sure, he certainly had a lust for power, but Abby always figured that had stopped after he got appointed as head of the church. 

“Why would you think Jaha is involved?” Abby questioned.

“No idea, I just don’t like him.” The girl shrugged. “But Marcus didn’t do it. He might be tall and strong and mysterious, but he’s basically allergic to any kind of weapon. You should have seen his face when I gave O. a wooden sword for her birthday!”

Abby didn’t know who O. was or why the man in the dungeon would care about her having a wooden sword but before she had time to make any further enquiries the bell in the church tower rang out over the whole city, letting people know that it was 5 o’clock. 

The summer sun still shone brightly making it easy for anyone to lose track of time, which was exactly what Abby had. She needed to talk to Thelonious and then to Marcus - the name still felt foreign to her, not quite fitting the man she had met - before nightfall, so she said a quick goodbye to her friend and his daughter promising to drop by on her way back if she had the time. 

The walk from the outer walls where Sinclair’s house lay and all the way to the keep on the other side of the Fort gave Abby time to steel herself for the conversation which lay ahead of her. It wasn’t much she was asking really, just one more quick talk with the accused. That was all. It didn’t seem wise to Abby to reveal her newfound scepsis of his guilt to Jaha, and she certainly couldn’t tell him who had made her change her mind and seek his audience once more. But as long as she kept her request under the pretence that she merely wished to be thorough in her work, everything should run smoothly, at least she hoped it would.

Getting through the gate of the keep was no trouble, the guards seemed to know who she was and were therefore delightfully reluctant to get in her way. The courtyard was all but empty with only a few guards posted at the different entrances, no guests since there was no one to visit since the Duchess had passed. Not even when Abby turned towards the church and the living quarters of the clergy did she see the clusters of novitiate priests she had been so used to seeing when she had first come to Fort Weather all those years ago.

Though she dreaded going there, Abby figured her best bet at finding Thelonious would be at the church, but a guard posted in front of its heavy wooden doors told her that he had taken residence in the main keep and was usually to be found in the dining hall at this hour. Relieved, Abby turned away from the church. 

As she arrived, it took a few words of argument and a mildly threatening glare at the guard outside the dining hall before she was let inside, but that was no trouble at all, really, when compared to the persuading she would have to do next.

The dining hall was big that if necessary, Abby guessed, it could house at least 100 guests, but currently it was empty but for a lone wooden table standing in the middle of the room. This somehow made it look even bigger. The curtains were drawn for a reason Abby couldn’t guess - it wasn’t even dark out yet - and it somehow managed to make the big, sparse room feel claustrophobic. Jaha sat at the far end of the table, a single candelabra illuminating him. 

Abby glanced around the room once more before she spoke, making sure that they were alone, but Jaha beat her to it.

“And here I thought you were in a hurry to get home,” he said after recovering from the surprise her presence in front of him must have been. “Did nostalgia get the better of you?”

“We need to talk.” She didn’t bother playing into his taunting.

“Didn’t think so,” he mused to himself as he abandoned the food on his platter. “What can I do for you, Abby?” His tone of voice carried an insincere tone of politeness, which told Abby that he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. She would be more than happy to oblige him as soon as she had gotten what she came for.

“I need to talk to your prisoner again.” There was no point in trying to soften him before stating her request, she had to be direct if she wanted this to be over.

“Why?” He asked coldly.

“If I’m condemning a man to death I want to be sure he’s guilty.” She wasn’t lying, really, but she didn’t see the point of mentioning that Sinclair had played a hand in changing her mind. If she could keep her friend out of this, she would.

“I already told you that he is. Your job was never to pass the verdict.”

“No, my job was to “break him”, as you said, but I can’t possibly go home with a clear conscience if I just did that to an innocent man, a man who you plan to execute.”

“He’s not innocent.” Jaha almost hissed and Abby - somewhat to her own dismay - became more convinced that the man in the dungeon wasn’t the murderer Jaha claimed him to be.

“If he’s not then it should be no bother for you to let me talk to him again, just to make sure.” God, it would be so much easier if Jaha was telling the truth if this man really did deserve every ounce of Jaha’s wrath, then she wouldn’t have to get involved like this. But she had made a promise to Sinclair, and to be frank, the more she inquired about this whole case the less she believed that the man sitting in front of her was being completely truthful. 

“Abby...” he began, his eyes sliding over her features with scrutinising regard. He was conspicuously reluctant to let her revisit the prisoner - Marcus she corrected once again before she could stop herself, she really shouldn’t care about his name, not until she knew whether he was a person worth such a courtesy, yet her brain seemed to think otherwise. 

Jaha’s eyes landed on hers but she made no move to evade his calculating glare. “Why can’t you just trust me and leave this be?”

_ Trust him? _ Abby stifled an indignant huff. “Because I’m not that kind of person,” she said instead, “I want to make sure myself. It won’t take long, just a few minutes. Trust me, I’m as eager to get on my way home as you are to see me gone.”

Once again the silence which followed seemed long and heavy. With her stubborn gaze fixed on the still-seated man, Abby could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he thought the situation over. And she saw just as clearly when he settled on a decision; the lines in his forehead and around his eyes smoothed out as his expression turned nonchalant.

“Okay,” he said calmly, finally dropping the challenging tone of voice. “I’ll take you to him.” 

For a moment Abby did nothing, not quite believing that he had actually conceded, but when he rose from his seat and walked past her towards the door her brain finally caught up and she started after him. 

There was no polite conversation during their walk, only the sound was Jaha’s heavy, metal keys jangling with every step he took. They were greeted by the bustle of armour and a clumsy salute from the guard posted by the dungeon door. No words were exchanged as they passed him. From her spot behind Jaha Abby only saw how the poor young guard’s face fell and coloured as he no doubt was on the receiving end of an admonishing glare from his master. They slipped through a sturdy but slim iron gate and into the clammy corridor of winding steps which led to the tunnels below the city which now acted as prison. 

Jaha lit the way with a torch and Abby followed close behind. She didn’t trust herself to keep her balance if she fell too far behind where she would no longer be able to see where she stepped.

The corridors were a maze of cold, wet darkness and despite her best efforts, Abby could feel that she losing her sense of direction. As they walked deeper into the maze she felt an increasing sense of panic wash over her. Something in her mind was screaming at her to run, to get out  _ now _ or she would never see the sunlight again. She shook her head in a futile attempt to silence the voice in her head. She had to do this, she was doing the right thing. Sinclair believed there was more to this and she had promised to look into it. She was doing the right thing being here. 

They stopped before a door of solid wood with only a small, barred, opening where Abby supposed most people’s heads would be - height had not been one of the gifts Abby had been given so she could only just peek over the edge and into the cell if she stood on tiptoe. 

“I don’t know what you expect to accomplish by this,” Jaha spoke the first words since they had left the dining hall, “He confessed,  _ several times _ . Why not just let this go and return home to your daughter?” His tone was soft, almost melodic and Abby had to admit, his words were tempting but she shook her head. 

“No.”

“Well then, ladies first.” He held the door open.

Jaha’s change in behaviour puzzled her - why bother to be gentlemanly now, when he hadn't bothered with such courtesies before? But she brushed the thought aside and entered, focusing instead on getting this over with. 

Jaha stayed in the opening, apparently not intending to set foot inside the cell - whether out of fear or disgust Abby didn’t know. Because of his stubborn position outside the cell, the light from his torch didn’t quite reach the corners of the small room. 

Abby took one step then another, but when she could see no other being in there she felt panic rise inside her again.  _ Was he trying to trick her? Had he led her to an empty cell only to shut the door and leave her here to rot? _ She shuffled instinctively backwards, towards the door but something in the shadows caught her eyes; a rustle of movement in a particularly dark corner of the room. She let out a small gasp of relief when the flames flickered and fell on the man, Marcus, albeit an impossibly more dirty and banged up version of him than who she had encountered the day before. 

She thought he was going to say something but all that came out of his opened mouth was a hoarse croak which turned into a cough. He needed water.

“Thelonious he’s-” she started turning her back on the man to look at Jaha but the words died on her tongue when they found the dark-skinned man’s face. A stiff expression was carved into his face, almost like he was trying to hold back a cruel smile and as soon as their eyes met Abby knew what was going to happen next. 

He took a single step back and in one fluid motion slid the door closed and locked it with a soft  _ click _ .

_ No! _

A thousand curses raced through her mind as that small sound echoed and grew against the walls of the dungeon. She felt her body tense and begin to shake, her emotions taking the reins. Tears stained her cheeks but inside her was nothing but white-hot rage.

_ How could she have been stupid enough to follow him down here? Why hadn’t she insisted that he bring the prisoner up? _ This was her fault, that was all she knew, but damn her if she wasn’t going to try and throw all her rage at him.  __

It felt good to yell, all her words of anger spewed like knives through the small, barred gap in the door and down the tunnel. The pack she had been carrying with her slipped from her shoulder and landed on the floor - long forgotten. Her hands gripped the bars tight - knuckles turning white and her palms bruising on the rusted iron - as she tugged and pushed against the unyielding door, but in the end, there was nothing she could do or say to make Jaha turn around. He was gone, becoming nothing but an echo of fading footsteps. 

Her head fell to the solid wood of the door with a  _ thump _ as hope seeped out of her.  _ How could she have done this to Clarke?  _ Her daughter wasn’t a helpless child anymore, Abby knew that, but she had made a promise to return and now she wouldn’t be able to keep that. There was no doubt that Clarke had felt her fear and discomfort when Jaha showed up at their door, so Abby knew she would worry.  _ Hopefully, Jackson is smart enough to keep her from doing something rash _ , she thought, but even Abby knew it would take half an army to stop her daughter if she had set her mind to something. 

A rustle coming from the far end of the cell startled her and she turned around swiftly, her back pressed hard against the door. Moments after the shock her mind seemed to snap back into function and she remembered that  _ he _ was in here with her. She admonished herself for being foolish enough to forget the whole reason for her being here and opened her mouth to say something.

Her words died in her throat when her eyes - which had finally gotten used to the darkness - landed on him and she finally, really saw him. 

Now, in the dim, blue light of the cell - supplied by moonlight streaming through a small slit where the ceiling met one of the walls - she could see beyond the dirt and bruises which covered him and straight into his eyes; the white in them shone in stark, unnatural contrast to everything else about him while his pupils and irises remained pitch black and this time, completely devoid of any emotion. 

This was what she made of people. This was the power she possessed; to turn people into empty shells.

A shiver travelled down her spine and she felt her heart rate pick up. He still made her feel- well it was hard to put a word to the feeling, really. In his presence, she felt  _ so much _ , and it wasn’t just fear, though that was the easiest emotion to decipher. This time, a wave of regret and pity surfaced from the jumbled mess of her emotions too and she felt the need to apologise. But the words would not form on her tongue. Frozen and speechless, heaving for breath and pulse racing she could do nothing but wait and see what happened next.

For a long time, nothing did. She could see him moving about a bit, shuffling into a new position, but he didn’t move any closer towards her. But then, after what felt like an eternity, his raspy voice broke the silence.

“I’m-” he started but stopped to clear his throat when the words got stuck. “I’m the convicted murderer who got caught red-handed.” Another pause, a deep ragged breath. “And yet somehow, you still fucked up more than I did.” A dry laugh emerged from the corner. “That’s almost impressive.”

His tone was malicious and though she hated to hear what he was saying - mostly because she knew he was right - the sound of his voice loosened something inside her. She could finally get her body to comply and she slid to the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed feeling how inadequate those words were.

“I hadn’t pegged you as this naïve,” he said and added sarcastically, “but then, I was busy reliving the worst night of my life so what did I know.”

“I’m sorry,” she tried again, this time more firm, her eyes trained directly at him.

He didn’t meet her gaze.

There was no way he would accept her - to put it lightly - lacking apology. Sitting there, barely two feet apart, cramped and cold in the silence of his rejection she realised that the sentiment had been said more to appease her own need to say it out loud than out of any hope for forgiveness. Forgiveness wasn‘t why she was here.

“Sinclair made a good argument in your favour,” Abby began, figuring she might as well give him an explanation to why she had come back - one that made it clear she hadn’t waltzed down here to torture him,  _ again _ .

He looked up but quickly thought better of making eye contact with her. It made her heart sting. She dug through her bag to find her water skin, hoping that actions would help convey her regret more than her words had. She managed to pull it out of her bag and offered it to him but he was reluctant to take it which she had expected. In the end, however, his natural need for water forced him to swallow his pride and he grabbed the skin greedily pouring its contents into his mouth. 

“He doesn’t think you’re capable of the violence you’ve been accused of,” she continued but refrained from adding that she shared that conviction. She had no explanation for her certainty of this man’s innocence, had no idea where it came from. Maybe some detail in his memories that her subconscious had picked up on? It was like there was a whole new part of her brain that gathered information and drew conclusions about him without her knowledge, and in the end, she was left with only fragments of the full picture. It felt like a part of her  _ knew  _ him despite having little to no real information about him.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” The gruff voice halted and shattered her train of thought, replacing it instead with a growing flare of annoyance.

“Well, he seemed to think he knows you pretty well.” The irritation in her voice was hard to conceal and it certainly didn’t make anything any better.

“If he thinks he knows me he’s more stupid than I thought. He has no idea what I’ve done,” he muttered under his breath.

_ This ungrateful bastard! _ Abby huffed in disbelief. “You have no idea, do you? Of how much it took for him to ask this of me? He cares about you - for reasons I cannot possibly understand.” She mumbled that last sentence but was quite sure he understood her meaning in the otherwise silent cell. “You should be thanking him for trying to help you.”

“But I don’t want his help, or yours! You should have left me alone.” He finally raised his voice to more than a whisper. “Letting Jaha lead you right down here was stupid, but compared to your sudden conviction of my innocence it basically qualifies as a good decision.” He paused, looking her over but strategically avoiding her eyes. “If you think you can ‘fix’ me then you’ve truly lost your wits.”

“And if you weren’t so busy trying to piss me off you’d see that I might actually be right.” She thought she saw a flicker of something else beneath the wall of sarcasm and anger he had built around himself. If there was something left of this man to save, then she would try her best to do so.

“Jaha might be convinced of your guilt, hell, it seems like you are too, but I’m not. For whatever reason, everything in my mind is screaming that something isn’t right, here, that you’re not supposed to be executed in four days.”

“But what if that’s what I deserve?” At once his voice had become uncertain and heavy.

Abby was completely stunned. 

“What do you mean it’s what you deserve? You didn’t kill the Duchess, you didn’t kill anyone.” When she had said the words she realised how deeply she believed them to be true, how deeply she believed in this strangers innocence.

“That’s not true.” A long, heavy pause. Abby wasn’t sure what he meant by this - did he still not believe her, or was there something more, something darker hidden behind those words? “I’m not a good man. For a moment I thought I had the chance to be, but in time I ruined that too.”

This man in front of her was a whole new kind of broken. Before he had seemed empty, resigned to his fate with nothing but a wish for this to end, but now, he was anything but empty. His eyes, filled with sorrow and regret didn’t avert when she sought them out and through them, she saw the waves of hatred and anger - which she had been the recipient of just minutes before - swell and come crashing down full-force, this time, every ounce was directed at himself.

There was so much pain inside this man and yet the pain spoke of a stronger heart buried underneath.


End file.
